


your hollow shade

by Ascel, The_Marron



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dark, Fairy Tale Elements, M/M, Psychological Horror, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 15:38:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6334669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ascel/pseuds/Ascel, https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Marron/pseuds/The_Marron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there was a boy who did not know his name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your hollow shade

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there was a boy who he did not know his name. He thought it to be _Winter_ , which suited him well, for he always travelled through winter woods.

As the winter woods were a dark and cold place, he wore a black riding hood which obscured his face. And even though his handlers called him _the asset_ , the people who were not familiar with him, people who knew not his name, his face or origin took to calling him the Winter Riding Hood, which he thought more suitable than _the asset._

Winter didn't know much about himself. He was aware he slept often and he never met the same person twice on his route through woods, which kept on changing every time he wandered into their depths. But he never questioned it, because why would he?

Every time he woke a new person would speak to him and call his name. Then he would be given a new objective and would go on his way through the woods.

With rules as simple as these questioning didn't seem wise, for it could only bring change and some kind of fear in the back of his mind constantly discouraged him from changes. Questions were associated with something painful, though he was not certain why,  therefore he never asked about anything.

When he was sent on yet another assignment, he didn't question it either.

This one didn't seem any different than the ones before.

“You must help us”, said his handlers when they woke him up and pulled him from his cold bed. He was Winter, it was fitting that he slept in cold, wasn’t it? He never asked.

“The world is very sick and you are the only one that can help it. There's a man whom you must find and bring his blood to us. And all shall be well again!” Their voices promised. He stopped trying to remember their faces long time ago. What for? He would never see them again.

And so Winter got up, put on his black riding hood and ventured into the woods, cold and dark as always. The trees welcomed him with a kind of embrace, reaching out to him with their branches, dripping with something red . Sometimes he almost felt as if they tried to catch him, but trees were only trees, after all, and couldn't hold anyone. Still, the puddles of red that marred almost blindingly white snow glowed and filled Winter with dread.

His road was empty, as usual. The animals feared him and people rarely wandered here, especially moments before the sunset.  Suddenly, it felt even colder than before. The shadows lengthened. But he had not stopped, passing one crossroad after the other, entering the wilder paths of the forest. The road was no longer straight and light, but twisted and shadowed, almost indistinguishable in the dying rays of sun.

He heard a rustle.

As Winter had very good hearing and even better reflexes, a necessity to survive in the woods, he was able to roll off the pathway and into the shadows in a mere blink of the eye. He crunched there, hiding from the light and peered at the road. There, walking slowly, as if wounded, was a giant golden wolf. The dying sun shimmered on its fur, making it look like a pure gold. Though the distance was great, Winter was sure the beast had the bluest eyes the he has ever seen. It was beautiful. It was scary.

It also appeared to be crying.

Winter was not even remotely moved by creature's tears. Yet it posed no threat and some kind of longing for a presence of another being filled him, so, still ready to fight if necessary, he got up from the bushes and slowly approached the wolf.

Momentary he was stopped by pure emotion he saw in its eyes. A deep kind of sorrow Winter himself had never felt, for only humans were granted feelings. Humans and this strange creature looking at him in shock.  Winter was Winter. He was no human and had no use for feelings. Humans had them, just like they had names, while he was given none.

No name, no feelings,  neither joy nor sorrow, just the objective. And yet, strangely enough, he felt curious now.  Why this creature, clearly not humane itself, would feel such pain? He came closer. The wolf pounced.

“Bucky!” It howled, even though Winter had his hand around its neck immediately after it moved. The word made no sense to Winter, so he focused on the fact that this animal has attacked him. He strengthened his grip. The beast whimpered pitifully.

“Bucky…” It whispered weakly, not even attempting to fight back. If asked (but no one ever asked him anything) Winter would not be able to say how he knew, but he realized that _Bucky_ was something meant for him. It was meant for him and him only, as if it had any importance. As if hearing it would change Winter somehow.

Seeing that the wolf would probably not harm him, he let it free. He took few steps back.

"Who the hell is Bucky?" He asked as calmly and gently as he could.

The creature whined.

"You are Bucky”, it said as it crawled towards him, with its stomach close to earth and its tail between its legs.

“You are Bucky and you are mine.”

“That can’t be right”, answered Winter. “I have no name.  if I had one it certainly wouldn't be that. And I cannot be yours, for I belong to my handlers.”

The creature whined once more and it stopped right in front of the Winter.

“You cannot believe that”, it pleaded as if looking at Winter sorrowfully would change the truth. It didn’t.

“It has nothing to do with beliefs. Facts are what we are given”, he replied.

The wolf nuzzled its head on Winter's hand. It felt strangely familiar. But it wasn't the first time Winter felt something familiar, though usually after he experienced such notion, pain followed. His handlers were not fond of Winter encountering anything familiar.

Suddenly, the place became even darker. The sun has disappeared completely and the night covered everything around them.  

As the wolf caressed his hand, something crept up Winter's spine. The forest was gone, only long shadows in its place, the glow of the snow fading away.

And suddenly he experienced something new. Winter was afraid.

He stepped back from the creature, whose eyes were the only light visible now, and melted in the shadows. He should have known better. His handlers warned him about the wolves, had told him that they were dangerous, cunning creatures and should not be trusted; that they would try to steer him  off his path and away from his assignment. Why would this one be any different? It may have seemed beautiful and honest, but it had to be a lie. His handlers were always right.  And if they were always right, the golden wolf had to be untrue. Those were the facts.

Had to be, because the beast confused Winter. Nothing ever confused Winter. Everything was always simple.

With grim determination he moved forward, putting the whole encounter behind him.

With every step he took he felt numbness overtaking his mind. The darkness was calming. Soon, he would enter the heart of the forest where his mark was. The mission would be accomplished and he would sleep again.

Sleep was cold.

But it was simple.

Something light and disturbing was in front of him and this time he would not hesitate.

He pressed on, venturing farther into darkness, which stopped being comforting and became cold and hostile; no light could be found anymore, since even the moon didn't reach the depths. With no light, nothing could distract him from what had to be done.

He moved within the shadows silently.

And when he finally found his mark and took the shot, he thought of nothing.

When he knelt down to collect the blood he only thought of what his handlers had told him.

When he heard the anguished wail of the golden wolf, he did not turn back.

But the creature was persistent. It ran towards him, he could hear its paws on the ground.

Without turning back he shot in its direction, hopefully making himself clear. “Come any nearer and you'll be dead.”

But the wolf was still approaching, its foot heavy on the path.

Winter turned. This time the wolf was not only golden, it had some kind of glow around it. Some kind of light. It hurt to look at it.

So he shot it once more, aiming for its side. He had no reason to kill it. Yet.

Blood trickled down its sides, but the wolf had not halted.

“Bucky, don't do this. I know you are there!”, it pleaded and its voice evoked something inside the Winter.

He felt anger. Cold, composed anger at this bothersome animal that brought that hateful light.

He whirled around aiming straight at its head. He shot, once, and did not bother to see if he missed; he never did. He stepped back into shadows, comforting and his, and no sounds followed him this time.

* * *

He remembered falling, white and blue and red red red, slowly creeping in and painting everything. He remembered the pain. He did not remember the light. And afterwards, he didn’t remember anything at all.

* * *

“The world is very sick and you are the only one that can help it. There's a man whom you must find and bring his blood to us. All shall be well again!”

And so Winter got up, put on his black riding hood and ventured into the woods, cold and dark as always. The trees  reaching out to him their branches, as if grabbing for him, dripping with something in different shades of red. They were bending at odd angles, dipping their purple tops in puddles underneath and swirling their roots in spirals, which almost obscured the road.  Sometimes he almost felt as if they tried to catch him, but trees were only trees, after all, they couldn't hold anyone. Still, the puddles of red on the snow glowed and filled Winter with dread.

His road was empty, as usual, for the animals feared him and run away at his sight. Only the ravens, high and safe in the branches, kept screaming and wailing as he walked. Suddenly, it felt even colder than ever before. The shadows lengthened. But he had not stopped, passing one crossroad after the other, entering the wilder paths of the forest, where there was no straight and clear road, but a twisted and shadowed path, almost indistinguishable in the dying rays of sun.

He heard a rustle.

It was easy for Winter to step off the path and into the shadows, which welcomed and enveloped him, hiding him from the sight. He stayed still and watched the road, which suddenly seemed brighter, as if the trees had taken a step back. There, walking slowly and clearly in pain, was a tall, blond man. He was carrying a shield, his eyes were impossibly blue and he had some strange sort of glow around him. Perhaps that was why the trees moved back, then. They always seemed to creep towards Winter. He was like them, made to be in dark and their red followed him. This man, though, was made of light, and so the forest withdrew.

For a moment, Winter felt a need of withdrawing as well. The trees were his. They were known. They were not safe, not by a long shot, but he was used to them, they were a spook he was accustomed to. But the blond man… He made Winter frightened. He resembled some kind of a dream long gone, a dream that brought nothing but confusion, a dream that evoked something Winter could not exploit. It was not safe to do so.

Ravens screamed. A piercing scream made of thousand voices deafened him. He wanted to escape.

But the orders were clear. Eliminate him. Winter’s handlers always said that the light was dangerous. It was misleading and prevented any change, it wanted the world to stay as it was - dirty and wrong. He had to resist. He was made to resist.

“Bucky…” Winter shot. His bullet hit the man and he staggered on his feet, but did not fall. He was bizarre, he should not be here . He was wrong, like the light around him. He had to be removed.

But had and would were very different things, and the closer the man came, the brighter the light around him seemed, the more afraid Winter felt, and more lost.

It was almost blinding, the halo around the golden man, and so unlike the forest and everything he had ever seen before. It made him long for how things were before the men appeared, because he had known the trees and ravens and knew they wouldn’t harm him, not really. This, however, he knew nothing about and could not fight.

Was it even possible to harm the light? It did not exist and was only an illusion, a trick for weaker minds, and yet the man stood still, despite the bullet in his body and blood staining his clothes. It did not make sense, was unlike the forest and the path. It made everything unstable, the forest was so different suddenly, trees no longer standing but twirling their branches, closing him in.  The man walked closer, and he didn’t know how to stop him.

If he could stop him.

His handlers warned him, they told him to stay on the path and avoid the light. He failed.

“Bucky”, the man said, as if it was meant for him, as if it carried some meaning only he could understand. It brought only dread.  

Good reflexes were a necessity in the woods. He shot the man again.

The trees crooned approvingly, their branches still circling around them. He wanted to forget. The woods he walked through so many times before were terrifying now. He couldn’t fear the woods if he did not see it. Darkness was safe. If there was no light, darkness would protect him, would keep the trees at bay. The light brought them here.

The man brought them here.

Winter’s path was gone. It was going to devour him because he saw it.

There were trails of blood swarming around the man who still refused to die.

Winter looked at his features. They were… familiar. Why would they be familiar? He was not allowed any familiar things, that much he remembered.  An image of a golden dog entered his mind. He rejected it immediately. His handlers were not fond of him having familiar things.  

And yet the face was known to him.

“You are my mission”, he realized suddenly.  The man smiled.

“Then finish it”, he answered, standing inches from Winter. Blood seeping still from his wounds was creating patterns on the snow. Patterns that, though indistinguishable,  somehow kept the trees at bay. “Because I’m with till the end of the line.” With that, the man collapsed.

His body crashed into Winter’s.

The Ravens screamed and their voices mixed with the hollow howling of the trees. Everything was red and black, the shapes and shadows becoming one, everything melting into red red red. And then, there was only black.

The light was gone.

The man in Winter’s arms was no longer moving.  But the woods were. They were coming for him. He was a part of them. They were part of him. He was them. They were him.  He was...

Winter closed his eyes, his ears full of what he now knew were his own screams.

* * *

Bucky Barnes opens his eyes, his ears waiting for shallow breaths from the body he is still holding.  

They do not come.

For the first time there is silence.

There is no light and no snow, there are no trees and no handlers.

Only Steve Rogers' unresponsive, battered body.

And then one weak breath.

It’s all he needs to leave the body and walk away.  He doesn’t want to return to the woods.  He is not going to. He is the woods. And they are him. He is familiar with them now. His handlers are not fond of him having familiar things.  

He is not fond of his handlers.


End file.
